


to our future selves: what have we become?

by theythemmie



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: But also, Canon Rewrite, Friends to Enemies, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Letters, NOR ARE THEY STRAIGHT FORGOT TO ADD THAT BIT :), Pokemon Platinum Version, Slow Burn, also neither cynthia nor cyrus are cis :) this is a canon fact i make the rules now, and begrudging solidarity, cyrus and cynthia are mlm wlw hostility, im a they/themmie i make the rules. cyrus is a they/themmie too, im bad at updating so beware. i try though, it's my sinnoh i make the content i deserve, nothing explicit just want to be careful., suck it gamefreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theythemmie/pseuds/theythemmie
Summary: sometimes, before there is hatred, there is love.(in which a series of letters from two young dreamers show the history of a region—in paper and ink, in pixels and bits of code, in a terrifying show upon the very top of that great peak which divides sinnoh, and finally in that painful aftermath, where they're left to pick up the pieces of what once was and can never be again.)
Relationships: (not a focal point just kinda there u know), Akagi | Cyrus/Shirona | Cynthia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. envelopes, part i.

**Author's Note:**

> um hi my name's remi and i do not control the special interest. i have been fixated on sinnoh since i was 10 and now here i am. anyway thank you for reading! you can find me on twitter @lesbisabelle
> 
> this is cynthia- and cyrus-centric, but other characters will appear later on! i just like their dynamic a lot so i based my platinum rewrite (or whatever the hell this is) around them :) they're just neat.

_ Ms. Cynthia, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I am told this is the polite and proper way to begin a letter, even if you are a “pen pal” I have never met and therefore do not know if I would like you or not. I do not care for this means of communication, but my mother insisted I write to you, so that is what I am doing. _

_ My name is Cyrus. I live in Sunyshore City. I am ten years old as of December, and I am in my first year of “junior high school”. No one has been able to explain to me how it is different from normal high school. I feel very out of place sometimes. _

_ I am supposed to ask you how old you are, where you are in school, what you like to do in your spare time, etc., but I think those are boring questions. _

_ I learned that you live in Celestic Town. I would like to know more about it, particularly the history and legends. It must be fascinating to have grown up around a place that powerful, or so I have heard. I have been doing a lot of research at the library in Canalave City about the myths that originate from Celestic Town. They are very interesting despite their unscientific nature. _

_ If you want to, you should write back. If you do not write back, I will not mind. I am only doing this to make my mother happy. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Cyrus _

_ January 12th, 1992 _

Slender hands pull crisp paper from the printer, threatening to smudge the ink as they tug impatiently at the letter. A pristine envelope, stamp placed neatly in the right-hand corner, lies by the keyboard of the monitor, awaiting the slip of paper it will carry to the edge of Mt. Coronet, to that tiny town with its rich history and mysterious sigils, hidden far away from outsiders’ prying eyes.

If Cyrus were more like their mother, they might believe this is the start of something important, something life changing. But there’s no  _ facts _ to support such an idea, no figures; regardless of what happens, the opposite outcome becomes the counterfactual, something impossible to test. (If it cannot be tested, it cannot be trusted.)

Carefully, they letter in an address below Cynthia’s name, handwriting surprisingly precise for someone so young; when they’re finally pleased with their handiwork, they drop the letter in the school’s mailbox, leaving a few Poké for the librarian as compensation for use of the printer.

The sunlight is bright this afternoon, and Cyrus enjoys its caress against the tawny brown of their cheek, brushing against the tiny spray of freckles that dot their face like spots on a fawn. They reach out to touch it, to find that place where the sky meets the sea and where one world meets another, to see and to understand.

_ It’s silly _ , Cyrus thinks to themself, outstretched fingers warmed by the heat of a faraway star, and hesitantly, they pull back, turning towards home, where there is no mystery nor wonder, only stilted attempts at family and stifled dreams of something more.

(Perhaps they  _ are _ a bit like their mother, they think to themselves as they look to the sky and think about all the possible futures of that one piece of paper.)

_ Dear Cyrus, _

_ It’s nice to meet you! I’m Cynthia. You don’t have to say “Miss” or “Ms.” or anything! I’m just Cynthia. _

_ My grandmother is my teacher, so I’m not in a grade like you are. But I’m 10 too! My birthday was in November. So I’m older than you! _

_ Do you have a lot of friends? You sound a bit lonely. Since we’re pen pals now, I think that makes us friends, if you’re okay with it. _

_ I’m not really allowed to talk to strangers about the stuff that happens here. It’s kind of a secret. But if you promise to be my friend, then you won’t be a stranger and I can share! Do you like history a lot? I do, too! Growing up here feels really special a lot of the time. There’s so much around us to observe and learn. I want to know everything, but my grandmother says I have to wait until I get older. _

_ She always tells me that life is not a race to the finish line. But I just want to learn as much as I can. I hate waiting. _

_ It was nice writing to you! I hope you write back soon. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Cynthia _

_ January 20th, 1992 _

_ P.S. Please ignore the weird markings on the back of the page since my Gible stepped on it. She’s very rowdy today. Bye! _

Short blond hair bobs in sync with her shoulders as Cynthia dashes off the postscript of her response, trying her best to dust the dirt off of the paper before sealing it in an envelope with a quick swipe of her finger. She knows her grandmother’s busy—which means it’s up to Cynthia and Gible to head to the Café Cabin and drop her mail off before the postman comes.

“I’mgoingtotheCabinwithGiblebye!” she shouts as she rushes past her grandmother up to the path out of town. It’s a hike to get through Route 210, but this letter is important. The two of them will get it there in time.

(And it never hurts that the postman likes to take his sweet time with his complimentary bottle of Moomoo Milk.)

They make a good team, Cynthia and Gible—dodging rustling patches of grass and keen-eyed trainers, pushing through at maximum effort until they arrive, breathless yet full of exhilaration. Cynthia can see the postman through the window, and she clutches the precious envelope (only slightly crumpled) in her hand.

“Well, howdy, little lady,” the postman says jovially, finishing off the bottle of Moomoo Milk with a smile and sheepishly wiping off the milk moustache when he sees Cynthia gaping just the slightest bit. “You got a letter from Celestic Town for me today?”

“Yes, sir!” she chirps in response, beaming as she hands him the letter. “Thank you for making sure it gets to Sunyshore safely.”

And with that, Cynthia dashes out once more, Gible hot on her heels, back home to Celestic Town.


	2. envelopes, part ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a friendship forged in the purest of flames will still have its insecurities, its blemishes; for these things are what make it human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY i took like 2 months to update oops. i wish i could promise regular update times but i cannot because i have classes and such but anyway. please take this <3

_ Cynthia, _

_ Today I went with my mother to the Sunyshore Market. Have you ever been? It is very nice, I think. I do not have a Pokémon yet, but I like to look at the Seals on display from the vendors. If you would like some, I will send them to you. There are many different shapes and colors, like hearts and stars and confetti-shaped objects in just about any color you could want. _

_ It is my grandfather’s birthday soon, so we gathered ingredients to make a very special celebratory dish. The Market has the best Pomeg berries in the area, or so I am told. My mother swears by one particular farmer, so we always get our produce from her. I am in charge of the saffron rice this year. It is exciting, because the rice is a very important part of  _ khoresh fesenjan _. My grandfather’s favorite part is the meatballs. He always says they remind him of the meatballs from a department store in Unova called IKEA. _

_ I have overheard my father telling my mother that it is unseemly for a boy my age to work in the kitchen. It makes me uncomfortable, because I like cooking, and also it makes me uncomfortable when he says those things about me. I do not feel like a girl, or even a boy, really, I just feel like me. I hope that he will recognize that. He is a very smart man, I think, and he encourages my education, which I suppose I should be grateful for. Sometimes, I think he is pushing me too hard. I do not want to say anything. It is for the best, I think. He is pushing me to greater heights, so that I might achieve what he and my mother could not. _

_ It is admirable, but sometimes, it is tiring. I feel very lonely. It does not help that most of my classmates are at least two years my elder. I do not have many people I can talk to. _

_ I apologize. I do not think that my last paragraphs makes sense. I think I will keep it, though, because we are friends now, and I think that maybe it is good to share how I feel. That is what friends do, is it not? They share things that are happy or sad for support and shared community? _

_ Soon, I will be going to Canalave City for a school field trip. If I find anything I think you might enjoy, I will see if I can send it with my next letter. The library is very fascinating to me, and I have heard that the university nearby has a state-of-the-art planetarium. Of course, we will only be there for one day, and not at night, but maybe I can come back another time to see it. Maybe you could come, too. I am not sure how far away Celestic Town and Canalave City are from one another. I would like to meet you in person someday. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Cyrus _

_ February 8th, 1992 _

Cyrus’s hand lingers on the mouse, cursor underlining each word, each phrase, each sentence with careful precision while they read through, over and over; the little arrow hovers, unsteady, over the print button, as though the act of printing makes it real, vulnerable. Their tics, little insecurities, blemishes and flaws in written word, laid out in print for all to see. It’s safe on the monitor, only pixels in black and white, framed by blue squiggly marks where the software disagrees with their grammar and a blinking cursor shaped like the letter “I”. There’s something less... _ physical _ to it, when it’s just light behind a glass screen, where there’s no risk of feeling so exposed, so bare.

They’re thinking too hard about all this.

The printer rustles, chugging faithfully along as it scans and inks each character, and Cyrus waits with baited breath to snatch it from the tray, to take all of these raw, emotional words and tuck them away, never to be seen again. Except by Cynthia.

Why should they trust her?

Cynthia, who’s virtually a stranger, who Cyrus has never met, who they can’t even say with complete certainty is real; no, it’s Cynthia, who is their friend, who they can trust, who will write back instead of backing away when she realizes how much of a  _ freak _ they are. If anyone would understand, it would be her. And perhaps, in time, Cyrus will be able to repay her kindness.

_ That is what friends do, is it not? _

Their mother calls for dinner from the family room below, and Cyrus makes sure to tuck the letter safely under their pillow, far away from prying eyes and curious fingers, far away from their father’s judgemental scowl and their mother’s silent inaction. They’ll take the letter to the post office tomorrow, they tell themselves, pasting on a blank smile that does little to hide the lifeless look in their eyes. Tomorrow, yes, after they’ve pretended to listen to whatever admonishment disguised as praise their father will offer tonight, pointing to the stack of almost-but-not-quite-perfect report cards that have piled up on the kitchen table, after they’ve offered up their own sullen apologies when their mother adds a half-hearted, “I know you can do so much, my Cyrus,” to soften the blow of their father’s sharp words.

_ Dear Cyrus, _

_ I’m sorry. I wish I could help more. _

_ But I hope that our letters help at least a little bit. I like talking to you, and I don’t know if you’d have written back if you didn’t like talking to me, too. Does that make sense? And maybe someday we’ll get to meet, and you won’t have to feel so lonely anymore. Because we’re friends, and even though I can’t be there with you physically, I’d like to think I can be there in spirit. My grandmother says that with the right people, a friendship can transcend time and space. Kind of like the myths here! _

_ There were once three Pokémon that appeared from the embers of our world’s birth. They controlled different aspects of the world—time and space, along with something else we don’t really know about. Two of them were the best of friends, like siblings; the other was violent and angry. The third one was banished to some other place we can’t see or visit, but the other two continued to keep the world in balance. And even today, they keep our world alive, and they do it together. _

_ So maybe we’re not Pokémon, and maybe we aren’t as powerful as something that could control time or space, but we’re friends, right? That’s what matters to me. And I hope we can stay friends, even if the world changes around us. So promise me you’ll try to remember me when things get lonely at home or at school? And I’ll try to be there for you in spirit. _

_ If you ask your parents when you can go to Canalave, I’ll ask my grandmother to help me meet you there. It’s a little ways away, but me and Gible will get there! And we can see the planetarium or the library or whatever else you want to see! I want to see the Gym, because I want to challenge it someday. I’m going to be the next Champion of Sinnoh. What’s your dream, Cyrus? _

_ I hope your grandfather has a nice birthday. Tell him I said hi if that’s okay! And I hope that things get easier with your father. But you don’t have to feel bad about sharing things like that with me. That’s what friends are for! _

_ Your (best) friend (if you want), _

_ Cynthia _

_ February 12, 1992 _

_ P.S. My favorite color is blue ;) And Gible likes stars a lot! _

_ P.P.S. I forgot to say this in my letter, but I wanted to tell you that the things you enjoy don’t make you a girl or a boy. It’s the way you feel that makes you who you are! I didn’t like being a boy, and being a girl felt better, so that’s what I am! My grandmother says that not everyone can feel comfortable expressing that kind of thing in their daily life, but you can express yourself any way you want to me! You’re my friend, and I’m your friend, and that’s what friends do for each other. That’s why I wanted to tell you this about me. I thought maybe it would help? And I like to help my friends. _

_ P.P.S. I understand how you feel when you say you feel lonely. I don’t know a lot of kids my age. Lots of the people in Celestic Town are old. Drasna is the only kid around here, but she’s almost 20, I think, so she doesn’t really count. Anyway, maybe we can be lonely together? But that isn’t really a thing, since having friends means you aren’t alone anymore. But I wanted to say that I know what it’s like and that I’m glad we’re friends and I hope you feel the same way! _

_ P.P.P.S. I enjoy your letters a lot! And I’m looking forward to the next one you send :) _

Maybe four postscripts is too many, Cynthia thinks to herself as she chews absently on the cap of the pen in her left hand. But she likes to talk, even if Cyrus seems a little bit quieter, and besides, there was so much empty space left to fill on the paper. It just felt natural while she was writing, and it looks fine, all things considered; it reads smoothly enough to her (even if it’s a little chaotic at times and it doesn’t quite have the proper structure her grandmother would want her to write with), and since Cyrus is her age, she hopes it’ll make sense to them as well.

She wonders if she’s smart enough for them. Ten years old and already so learned—why is Cyrus writing to her of all people, when she’s just some kid from a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere? Cynthia’s not a prodigy, not unless her battling counts, but Cyrus doesn’t seem so interested in those matters. They’re an intellectual. She’s not a virtuoso, not an exemplar; she’s just Cynthia. What makes her special; what makes her worth their time?

Why should she trust them?

They barely know her. What’s to stop them from using her for their own gain, to lie and cheat and steal and leave her all alone in the end, raw and hurt and empty? What’s to stop them from betraying that trust so naively given; what’s to stop them from building something between the two of them that’s ultimately all a lie?

But they wouldn’t do that. Because Cyrus is her friend. Friends don’t hurt one another. She can trust them, just as they’ve trusted her. She can understand them, just as they’ll understand her in return.

_ That is what friends do, is it not? _

“Yeah,” Cynthia replies softly, her words suspended in the air above her, searching for a recipient half a region away. “It is.”


End file.
